Of Hilt, Haft and Hem
by Estoma
Summary: Of brothers, friends, promises and growing up.
1. of First Promises

**Author's note: Thanks to Edhla for being my beta. **

**Of First Promises **

To give one's word has become an antiquated phrase. In our time of plenty and ease, even the most sacred of vows, even those spoken between a man and a woman, may be cast aside. Yet it is not so in the time of our story. In Middle Earth, a promise made is still held in high regard by all but the most wicked folk, and they are not who this tale is about. To those who have very little to treasure, their given word holds a particular power. It was a promise that saw Thorin Oakenshield lead his company to the Lonely Mountain. But he is not the only one in this tale to give his solemn word.

* * *

_Under skies darkened by innumerable, dark bats, the armies fought. The shrill cries of the bats and the goblins melded with the howling wargs. This cacophony pierced the ears and drove those fighting nearly to madness. It drowned out the throaty war-cries of the dwarves, and the bold men who declared for Esgaroth and Bard the Bowman. Only the clear horns of the wood-elves were heard true._

_On the broken ground by the front gate, a company fought. Hard up on three sides, the goblins pressed, but the small band did not yield. There were thirteen; to some an unlucky number, but their bright swords and axes rallied their allies. Even in the unnatural darkness, their armour was bright._

_Yet soon the company must yield; there were now foes hemming them on all sides. The set of their grim faces showed that this was known to them, even to the two youngest members of the company. But none among them gave any sign other than to set their mouths and tighten their calloused hands on hilt and haft._

_It is a strange thing, than when in battle, the mind can become beautifully free. At least, that is what I am told by those who know it well. It was quite true for the younger members of the majestically doomed company. The oldest of the pair, a dwarf who could count less than a hundred years, did not think of the battle. Though his heavy swords never faltered, his mind had left them. Fili looked past the goblin hoards and the sky that was darkened to gloom; his mind took him far west._

_In his mind's eye, Fili remembered the first promise he had made. At least, the first where he understood the solemnity the occasion demanded. It was made with all the seriousness that a small child could muster. So instead of the ravaged slopes of the mountain, Fili saw the Blue Mountains rearing high, tinged with the ore that gave them their name. He looked through them, to a cosy bedchamber where..._

...A small dwarf child sat, kicking his heels against the oaken platform of his bed. Not five minutes ago, he had been bid to wait by his uncle Thorin. If he waited patiently, he would receive a nice surprise. This should have been enough to entice him to wait, but to young Fili, the time dragged as it does for the very young.

Behind the thick door, polished oak like the bed, two dwarves conversed in low voices. Their naturally deep pitch ensured all the waiting child could hear was dull rumble. The dwarf now speaking was a picture of grandeur with a golden chain about his neck. It looked heavy, yet he did not notice the weight that would have dragged on another. However, there was black soot from the forge fire ground into the calluses on his hands. Perhaps it would be better to say that he could have been a picture of grandeur.

"Does he know?" the dwarf questioned. He was of course, the Thorin Oakenshield and he waited for an answer, fixing his companion with a stare that would have befitted an eagle. The other dwarf was shorter than he was, with a beard much thinner, for she was a woman. Yet her forearms looked like those of a blacksmith among men. Capability was found in her face, and when she answered Thorin, Hala spoke as one who knew some things very well. She was nanny to young Fili, and carer to his weakened mother.

"Aye, my lord, Fili knows his mother doesn't want to be here anymore. He knows his father's gone too."

"Does Dis truly suffer so?" Thorin asked.

"Yes, this morning she looked right through her son and asked me when Niri would be home from hunting." Hala met Thorin's steely gaze, and there were few in the Blue Mountains who could do so. "You should talk to her, my lord; I fear for her and the child she carries. Dis will not survive her husband long."

"You say this as if you know." Thorin's words were accompanied by the slightest of sighs.

"Aye lord. If a woman cannot be stirred to move by her own child, nor care for her unborn babe, then she is not for this world. I am sorry." Now Hala hesitated a little, "I fear that we can do little for Dis, but I worry for Fili."

Thorin passed one large hand across his face and down to the chain on his neck. His fingers stroked the metal as he did when worried. "I see," he said with forced briskness, as if it were not his sister, or his nephew of whom they spoke. "You have a thought Hala, I see you do."

"Yes lord. I think it best I move into their wing permanently. My daughter is Fili's age, and Mim will provide a good companion for him."

"Very well." Thorin cleared his throat but found he had to study the axe strokes on the ceiling for a moment or two before his eyes stopped burning. "I will see to the order. Fetch your daughter now."

The door swung open easily on its hinges, for it was dwarf made, and that means well made. Fili was forced to scuttle back out of the way. He had heard little with his ear pressed to the wood, and was still anxious to learn of the surprise. He bit his lip, hoping he had waited properly as Thorin said. Though he was only four years old, he stood up very straight before Thorin.

"Fili, lad, we want you to meet Mim." Thorin waved his hand and Hala turned her shy daughter away from her skirts. "Mim is Hala's daughter. They are both going to live in this wing with you."

Fili and Mim regarded each other with the utter seriousness than only young children can manage. "Hala won't go at night?" Fili asked.

"No, Mim and I will stay here," Hala said gently.

Fili digested this fact, and his face lit up with a gleeful smile. "So I have someone to play with!"

Thorin allowed himself a rare smile that lit up the depths of his dark eyes. Fili was one of the few who could force a smile from he who would be king. He got down to the child's level.

"Yes Fili. But you must remember Mim is not as strong as you, or as big. You will have to play gently and look out for her. Can you promise that Fili?"

Thorin tried to address his young nephew not as a general to a soldier, and he tried to make his voice soft. Fili's wide eyed answer made him smile again, though it was nearly concealed in his beard.

"I promise."

**A big thank you to Edhla for being my beta on this story!**


	2. Of Kith and Kin

**Author's note: Thanks to Edhla for being my beta. I've made Mim and Fili about the equivalent of five years old. Please don't ask me to do the maths really. I'm just going to assume they age like human children but have longer lifespans. **

**Of Kith and Kin**

Outside, the sun shone fitfully, yet inside the dwarf settlement of the Blue Mountains, all was lit by the same even torchlight. The brackets that held them ranged from beaten bronze to salvaged tin. In Erebor of old, even the poorest would use silver at least for this feature. In one particular room though, the torches were burning low.

"Her confinement will end soon," Hala said, closing the door to the dim room.  
In this matter, Thorin Oakenshield would trust the woman.  
"That is...well."

"Beg pardon lord," Hala looked briefly back to the door, "it is too soon."

Thorin fingered the chain about his neck, twisting it between thick fingers.

"Then we will lose Dis' child." His voice was so harsh that Hala would have flinched if she did not know him so well.

Both the exiled king and the nurse bowed their heads and studied the floor, worn smooth by many heavy feet. You see, Durin's folk are not like us prolific Men. They live long and count themselves young while we would be grey of hair. Yet children among them are few.

Across the hallway, two children played under much brighter torches. A rug, all in the warm, earthy tones loved by dwarves, kept them off the cold stone. The boy brandished a wooden sword, levelling it at his fallen foe with both hands. The muscles in his forearms already belied the strength of his race. Fili nudged the sword forwards.

"Well? Surrender?"

"I didn't even want to play," the young girl sniffed.

"Surrender?" Fili asked again, trying to mimic his uncle's stiff tones. He did not come close, for Mim only pouted and pushed away the point of his sword. She scrambled to her feet and rearranged her petticoats with careful dignity. It was quite spoiled though, when she stuck her tongue out at Fili.

On entering the room, Hala looked immediately for her small charges. Mim dashed to her mother on light, stockinged feet and stood with her hands bunched in Hala's skirts.

"What is the matter sweet?"

"Don't want to be an orc," the child muttered.

It was Fili's misfortune that Thorin entered then, for Hala would have dealt with it more leniently. His quick eye took in the unhappy girl child, and Fili who still held his wooden sword.

"Fili, I do not want more games like this. You will be a man one day, and it will be up to you to protect a woman, with your life if need be. So if I see you scaring Mim one more time, there will be trouble." As he said this, his hands went to his thick belt buckle, "Do you understand?"

Fili's shoulders slumped and he dropped his eyes to the rug.

"Yes uncle."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Yes lord." Fili blinked rapidly, barely holding back angry tears until Thorin was gone.

Closing the heavy wooden door, Thorin leaned upon it. He had not been fool enough to miss his sister-son's shame. By the end of the season, Fili may be the only kin he had left. Thorin brought his hand down to the doorhandle, but then closed it into a fist. He pulled his cloak tightly around him and strode down the corridor, face thunderous.

Hala crossed the room as soon as Thorin was gone, tutting softly to herself. She put a hand under Fili's chin and made him lift his face. Briskly, she dabbed his tears with the corner of her starched apron.

"There, no harm done. Just play quietly the both of you, while I see to Dis."

Outside, the sun progressed only a little towards the Western shoulder of the Blue Mountains. Inside the mountain, it was hard to tell the time. I am told that dwarves are expert at measuring time without seeing the sun, but it is a skill learnt only with practice. To the dwarf children it seemed time passed with excruciating slowness. The notion of quiet play held them scarcely minutes, at least in Fili's case. Mim sat quietly on the rug with her skirts spread to cover her ankles. Her hands worked, laying out a pattern of coloured stones to follow the weave of the carpet. This lasted until Fili tossed a small leather ball down at her feet. The stones scattered and Mim scrambled up, quite forgetting her ankles.

"Go away Fili," she said. She made a valiant attempt to imitate her mother's firm tone, with her small hands on her hips.

"If you play catch first."

The reception hall was the largest room in the wing. The walls held a few niches where precious things sat on display. In particular, there was a porcelain sculpture of the great gates at Erebor, complete with grey flanking statues. Likely, it would have been a fine room for children to play in, had their throws not had dwarven strength behind them.

"Fili we aren't allowed," Mim whined again.

"Your mother won't know if you won't tell." His tone was challenging and made Mim flush darkly.

"We shouldn't play." She crossed her arms over her chest. It was their misfortune that Fili chose that moment to throw the ball and Mim could not free her arms in time. The ball collided with the sculpture, shattering it more effectively than Smaug did so to the real gates. Mim and Fili looked at one another before tentatively approaching the ruin.

With skirts held up to her knees, Hala entered at a run. As she saw both children safe, she was free to be angry.

"Fili, did you do this?"

The young dwarf hung his head and nodded.

"I've told you not to play here," Hala sighed. "Since you can't behave yourself here, you can go to the records hall and sit quietly there until you've thought about this. Then, you can go to bed without supper."

Mim bit her lip and tugged on her curls uneasily. She took a half step forwards.

"It was my fault," she whispered.

"Was it now?"

"It was my idea," she lied.

"Well then Fili, you can wait here while I take Mim down," Hala said. She held out her hand and began to walk to the door. She did not think it would be long before Fili confessed. "Come along Mim."

Fili watched them go, kicking at the rock under his boots. Now, it is an interesting thing about our tale; it is set in a time and place where honour and honesty still have some meaning, even to the very young. They learn it at their parents' knee, while too often our children learn to make lies seem as truths. So Fili flushed with shame and recalled Thorin's earlier words. He caught up to Mim and Hala in the doorway.

"It was my fault Hala," he said breathlessly, "please don't punish Mim."

Hala held back a weary smile and shook her head fondly.

"I appreciate your honesty Fili. You can both go to the hall of records."

In the hall, the air was smoky from dozens of extra candles set on the tables. Scrolls sat perilously close to the flames, covering every surface, including the walls which were set with shelves reached by ladders. The children knew without being told that this was a special place.

Hala wound between tables until she came to the far back corner, leading the children by the hand. A busy dwarf sat there, sucking on the end of a quill. There were scrolls piled on the table and his lap.

"Dori?" she asked. Hala had to say his name twice before he looked up, blinking owlishly. "Could you please make use of these trouble makers until I come for them?"

The scratch of Dori's quill was loud in the quiet room. Fili and Mim sat either side of him but he scarcely looked up. Fili leaned back on his stool until he could see Mim. He made a fair impression of Dori's face, nose crinkled in concentration and tongue resting on his bottom lip. Mim stifled a giggle with her hand and pulled a face of her own.


	3. Of Beginnings and Endings

**Author's note: Thanks to Edhla for being my beta. **

**Of Beginnings and Endings**

Summer passed and gave way to autumn; a short, busy season. The dwarves of the Blue Mountains spent it trading with the closest men, services for goods to tide them through the winter. Never have I heard of a dwarf with any inclination towards farming. Those that spent the warmer months working in the villages of men, even as far as Bree, returned before snow made their passage impossible.

Yet in one household there was no flurry of activity. While the rest of the mountain toiled like a hive of bees, a sense of waiting has settled on this wing. It was like a heavy blanket, like the snow that would soon be falling.

As if it strove to shake the feeling, a fire crackled merrily on the grate. Its warmth spread out to reach the children seated on the rug and their nurse in her rocking chair. It was a grand old thing; all polished wood and scrolled arms. Hala's fingers worked deftly at her knitting, bone needles clinking and melding with the chatter of the children. A woollen blanket grew slowly, in earthy brown for dwarves are fond of good, plain colours.

"You should use red," Mim piped up.

"What was that, sweet?" Hala did not stop her needles.

"You should have red in it."

"I like red," Fili added in.

"Oh, maybe the next one dears," Hala said. Her needles slowed just a little. She had once made her husband Tarm a red woollen vest to wear under his armour. When he accepted it, he joked that red was a practical colour. He wore the vest to Moria.

Several more rows of the blanket grew, piling onto Hala's lap, before Fili and Mim were bored. There is, I am told, something particularly alluring in fire for dwarves; even the youngest can watch it tirelessly.

"Hala, can I see mother yet, please?" Fili asked. Hala's fingers did falter this time. It had been two days since the boy saw his mother.

"Sorry darling, she isn't very well." Hala softened her normally gravelly voice, "she would see you if she could."

It was not the first time Fili had heard that answer. He looked at Hala for a moment with wide eyes before resuming his staring at the fire. The light of it reflected in his eyes for they were filled with tears, barely held back. Mim shifted a little closer to him so their shoulders just touched. Hala felt a prickle in her own eyes.

"Time to rest now, both of you," she announced, a little more brusquely than she meant.

With both children in bed, Hala returned to the fire. She added another log from the cane basket and watched a dozen sparks chase each other up the chimney. They winked out before they left her sight. She could have been forgiven for heaving a sigh and leaving her hands idle in her lap. Just a few months ago it had fallen to her to tell two children that they would not see their fathers again. One was her daughter.

"When will Da be back?" Mim had asked, over and over.

Hala's only reply had been to say, "He is in the halls of waiting. And when you are very old, you can go there too."

"I want to be old now," Mim had said. Hala nearly agreed with her daughter.

Dis was unable to tell her son the news, so it fell to Hala. Fili took it better, and worse than Mim; he did not speak for days.

On the hearth, the fire had burnt down to embers. They glowed and pulsed and held just as much fascination for Hala as the flames had. Every few moments she dragged her gaze from the grate, down the dimmed hallway. As yet there was no sound from Dis, but Hala would not sleep tonight. When she heard a soft cry, almost like the mewling of a kitten, she rose quickly.

Usually Hala took a moment to watch her sleeping daughter, marvel at the small hands twisted in the blankets, and the shock of ringlets on the pillow. Dwarf women were few in the Blue Mountains; it made Mim all the more precious. But now Hala did not take the time. Holding a candle in its brass bracket, she pulled back the knitted blanket. Mim clutched it sleepily.

"Sweet, wake up," Hala said, and she dragged the blanket over one arm.

"Ma?"

"Come on now Mim." Hala took her daughter's hand and held the candle in front of her. It cast flickering shadows on the walls, picking out the axe strokes. Mim stayed close, nearly tripping her mother, but Hala said nothing more until she had to wake Fili. She shook his shoulder gently.

"Mother?" he asked.

Hala tried to speak once and founder her throat tight. She shook her head a little forcefully and swallowed.

"No dear, Hala. Time to get up."

"Oh," he said softly, rubbing small hands across his eyes. "I'm tired."

"Yes I know. You can go back to sleep soon dears, follow me."

If Balin was surprised to see Hala and the two children, he hid it well. In fact, he was not. He stood in the doorway for only a moment before drawing back to let them through into his quarters. He doffed his nightcap to Hala.

"It is time then." The older dwarf's voice was very grim.

Hala looked to him, warning him with her glance. Balin simply bowed his head. Passing over the candle, Hala put her arm around each child, pulling their little faces into her skirt.

"You must be good for Balin and I will come back in the morning."

"But where..." Mim tried to say, yet her mother turned and gave no answer, pulling her skirts up to her knees as she hurried to find Thorin, and the healers.

In the playroom, the fire had nearly died; only a few embers showed a dull red among the grey ashes. But in Dis' chamber, the stove was stoked and pans of water heated. The healers put sprigs of rosemary in the water to disguise the rusty tang of blood. Everyone in the room was sweating profusely, moisture beading and running down their cheeks. Thorin swiped his cheek roughly, and though none would think it to look at him, the exiled king could be forgiven for shedding a tear.

"Niri?" Dis' voice was not loud; it was raw.

Thorin looked to Hala with wide, panicked eyes. The nurse stepped back, nodding, to allow Thorin room by the bed.

"Dis," he said simply.

"Husband, you did come back," she said, but her eyes were glazed and wandered past her brother's face.

"Do you want to hold your son?" he asked.

"Fili?"

"No, your baby?"

In a rocking chair similar to Hala's, Balin sat and waited for the faint sounds in his guest room to cease. He did not mind the small murmurings and shuffling, but he had no children of his own. Balin's gaze often fell on the copper etching above his hearth. There was a softly smiling face there, her silky beard plaited out of the frame. His wife; three days before the dragon came to Erebor.

"Balin, I can't sleep."

In the spare room, Balin added another log to the fire, but he did not watch the sparks dance up the chimney. He turned back to the children; both awake, both clutching the covers to their little chins.

"If I tell you one story, will you be able to sleep?"

Two heads nodded in unison and two pairs of very wide eyes watched him.

"Very well," Balin lowered himself onto the side of the bed. It sunk down a little, and Fili slid a bit closer to him. Absently, he smoothed the covers. "How about the story about the beautiful dwarf woman and the seven Men?"

Thorin and Hala waited in the doorway, just out of sight as Balin drew to the end of the story. He continued even though one of his listeners had fallen asleep. Mim was barely visible; just her hair fanned out on the pillow. Fili had his hands wrapped around his knees, and he dropped his head to hide a yawn.

"So she left with the prince, and the Men often came to visit her under the mountain. And they all lived quite happily..." Balin looked up then, at the doorway, and his face quickly sobered.

"Ever after?" Fili supplied, quite oblivious to the stares that passed over his head.

"You will have to check with your uncle Thorin."

Mim stirred only a little when Hala picked her up. She snuggled her face against her mother's bosom and did not wake. Thorin took Fili by the hand and the would be king's face was set like the stone of their home.

"You will do it now?" she asked.

"Aye."

Outside, a cold dawn was just breaking, streaked with golden, orange and crimson. In the mountain, dwarves carrying candles relit the torches that had been extinguished for the night. Now they were lit again to give a semblance of day. These servants stepped back against the walls as Thorin passed, and they lowered their faces. Fili struggled to keep up with Thorin's quick strides.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

Thorin gave no answer, and Fili had learnt better than to press his uncle. So when they came back to the family's wing he was confused. They passed the reception hall, one of the niches still empty, and stopped in the corridor. There Thorin lowered himself to knees knees and put one hand on Fili's shoulder. He could not fail to notice how small, how fragile, his sister-son was and his hand tightened.

"This is mother's room," Fili said. His face split into a wide grin, "Can I see her now."

"Aye lad, in a way."

It would have been a sight to see the Thorin Oakenshield crouched on the cold stone with his sister-son's face buried in his chest. At first when the child did so, Thorin stiffened, but slowly he thawed and his arms came around to hold him very tightly. He spoke of the great halls of waiting, his words directed into Fili's blonde hair. He spoke of the carved pillars, rising out of sight and the harps and flutes while matching tears ran down their faces. Thorin had feared his sister-son would not understand, but he did. And Thorin knew it was a sad time indeed when a child so young would do so.

One day, Fili would be asked if his uncle ever showed any emotion, anything other than anger. At first he would answer 'no', but then would hesitantly recall just this day. Where his uncle knelt on the stone until his knees were numb, and cried until his beard was wet.

"Are you ready lad?"

Fili nodded and reached for Thorin's hand. He ignored the tears that were still trickling down either side of his nose.

The fire was still crackling, lending an illusion of life to the room. To say Dis looked peaceful in her passing would be a blatant lie. Someone had drawn a blanket right up to her chin; brown like the earth. Above it, her eyes were closed, but that did not hide that she had been crying until her last.

"You should say goodbye," Thorin instructed. His own goodbye had been said. He had said it weeks ago. Fili paced solemnly around the bed and pressed his lips to his mother's cheek. The fire lent it warmth, but it was still too cool. One might think that this would be too much for a child, and in our time it may well have been. But you must remember that this story is not set then, but in a time when fairy tales like Balin's are few. So Thorin put his hand on Fili's shoulder again and nodded approvingly.

"Would you like to see your brother?"

The child shook his head and finally wiped at his cheeks with his sleeve.

"Come Fili, you will."

This room was smaller, and a fire crackled happily as if nothing ill had ever happened. Thorin took a small bundle from the cot and ordered Fili to sit on a low chair. He wriggled into place, but still his small feet dangled over the edge. He swung them.

"His name is Kili. It's like yours Fili, so everyone knows you are brothers." Thorin delivered the baby to Fili's arms, and before Thorin needed to tell him, he instinctively adjusted his hold, cradling Kili's head in the crook of his elbow.

"Why didn't mother take him too, so she could look after him?" Fili asked innocently. He looked down at the baby with his head to one side.

It took Thorin some time to answer; it had nearly been that way. "Because she knew you would love to have a brother. And that means you will have to help Hala care for Kili. Can you promise to take care of him?"

I have told you earlier that this was a time where promises are never made lightly, so Fili continued to look down on his baby brother for some moments.

"I promise uncle."

Then Kili stirred and opened his eyes, murky gaze unfocused, sweeping over his brother. With the suddenness of a fire catching, Fili smiled.


	4. Of Mishaps

**Author's note: Thanks to Edhla for being my beta. Here's something more cheerful after the last chapter. **

**Of Mishaps**

Melted snow ran down the slopes of the Blue Mountains in rushing torrents. They were white and frothed like milk, icy to touch. By their banks, and around the feet of the mountain, wild flowers of every kind sprang up. They made a bright mantle for the mountain, to replace the white shawl of snow worn all through winter. Around the broken hills and tumbled rocks at the mountain's feet, they made the air sweet. Small yellow faced daisies were the most tenacious, though they were smaller than their lowland cousins. Purple larkspur were less numerous, but grew in every shaded dell. The tiny Forget-Me-Nots reflected the clear blue of the sky. For months it had been leaden grey, but now the sun shone down on all the new growth.

Within the mountain too, things were growing and changing. Many of the dwarves readied their packs, heavy with tools, and made the trek out to work. The villages of men were eager to receive them. There they would stay through the riotous spring and brief mountain summer. All winter, orders were compiled by the men, broken things set aside, for there are no finer craftsmen than dwarves. Some would argue that the high elves of the first age could rival them, but they made mostly items of great beauty, but little use, except for their weapons. But there is also a beauty in common objects that are made with a skilled hand. I myself once gad my kitchen knives sharpened by a dwarf, though not one of Durin's line. To this day they have not become blunt.

Away to the east, the shepherds among men were busy with their ewes and lambs, and the gangly foals of their horses. Their own children took to the outside, to tumble and play in the soft, new grass. Months of winter confinement made the spring air all the more enticing. It was the same with the young dwarf children, though perhaps the desire to roam outside was not quite as strong. Dwarves are used to going many months without leaving their mountain halls, but this is a long time to the young.

Under the mountain, Fili and Mim were filled with just such longing. For days they had prevailed upon Hala to take them outside. This particular morning, their wish had been granted. Hala bundled the children up in the thick, woolen garments she had labored on during the winter months, for the air was still chill. She smothered little Kili in blankets and held him close against her body.

"Listen, children," Hala said sternly. They halted in the entrance hall, where sunlight filtered through the skylights to pick out the tiles on the floor. They spiraled out from the centre, under a dome of stained glass. It cast splashes of colour down on all in the hall. Fili and Mim fidgeted under Hala's eye.

"Outside you must stay where I can see you, and come when I call. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Ma," Mim answered dutifully.

"Fili?" Hala fixed the youngster with her stern eye, free hand on her hip. He was gazing up at the stained glass, and it cast a ruddy light back on his face. At Hala's question, he dragged his gaze back down. "Well?"

Yes, Hala," he smiled up at her.

"Yes what, hmm?"

"We won't go too far away." Fili bounced on the balls of his feet. "Can we please go Hala?"

By the feet of the mountain, the lush spring grass was already a foot high. It was as bright as any emerald dug from the cold rock, and to the dwarf children it was a jungle. Taller than the grass, foxgloves rose up on their woody stalks. Their flowers were pink, lilac and cream, deep enough to slip a finger into. Lazy bumblebees frequented the flowers, burrowing in, and reappearing with their glossy, black hairs dusted with pollen. The bee was engulfed by the flower, yet could still be marked by the drooping head. All around, black tipped swifts darted, making a meal of the large insects.

It was onto this that Fili and Mim looked with excitement and trepidation. It had been months since they ventured outside, and that had been in autumn. They could barely remember a mountain spring. Mim hung back near her mother, but Fili scampered down the slope, laughing gleefully.

"Not too far, now!" Hala called after him.

She carried Kili in a sling close to her body, one hand protectively over the baby's head. Her other hand held a basket. Mim wished her mother had a free hand she could hold, and stuck close as they picked their way down the gentle slope.

Overhead, the sun was a t high noon. Hala sat on a rug, her hands busy with her needle. There were always things that needed mending. She did not understand how Fili could tear two tunics in a month while Mim had nothing that needed attention. She did know how he wore through the knees of his leggings; he liked to crawl around on the rug, directing toy figures into great battles. Every few moments, Hala glanced up at the children at play, within shouting distance. She in turn was in sight of the pair of guards by the gate.

I am told that dwarf women are very different to their menfolk (in all but appearance, for they resemble each other a great deal). While the men travel great distances, it takes something as extraordinary as a dragon to force the women to leave their homes. Nowadays it is rare to see a dwarf woman, and their husbands guard them fiercely, for there are so few.

Laughter drifted back to Hala, and she smiled, raising her face from her lap again. Fili had enticed Mim into an energetic game of tag. As Mim was hampered by her skirts, Fili was winning. Mim knew this too, and she stopped running, putting her nose up in the air; a prim imitation of her mother.

"You have to chase me," Fili complained.

"That game is boring now," she sniffed, plopping down on the ground, and spreading her skirt carefully. Fili crossed his arms and pouted. Mim refused to look up at him, instead taking strands of the long grass. Her clever fingers wove it into an intricate plait. She tied it around her wrist, using her teeth to pull the knot tight. With his head on the side, Fili watched her. Mim studiously ignored him, starting on another bracelet, but she could not help darting glances up, to see if he was still watching. In the endearing manner of a child, she could not keep it up for long.

"Here," she proffered a second braided band, "I made one for you."

Fili held out his wrist for her to tie it on. He bit his lip.

"Could you show me how to make them?"

Mim could be forgiven for smiling smugly.

Though the plant life grew prolifically, spring in the mountains could still be harsh. I myself grew up by the great waters, but I have been told by those who know well, of the violence of spring storms in the mountains. Clouds began to pass over the sun, casting their shadows down on the grass. The clouds were deep grey, and there was ice in their hearts. A storm like this would cut the delicate flowers to ribbons.

"Children," Hala called. She hastily packed her sewing away, casting an eye upwards. The clouds moved rapidly, driven by the wind that had sprung up. It made the grass ripple like the great water and the foxgloves bow. Fili and Mim came at a run. Mum held her shirts up with one hand. She came to stand very close to her mother.

"Do we have to go, Hala?" Fili asked, though he too stood closer than normal to his nurse.

"A storm is brewing. We must go, my dears," she replied.

"May I please carry Kili back?"

Hala shifted the baby in her arms. "I don't know, dear…" she frowned.

"Please Hala? I'll be careful."

Hala twisted the curl of her heard around her finger as she often did when she was thinking. Then she smiled slightly.

"Very well dear, only to the slope though. You must be very careful not to drop him."

Up above, the clouds merged into one mass, dimming the light. The vibrant colour seemed to leech from the grass and flowers, leaving them dull copies. Mim stayed close to her mother, one hand holding onto Hala's skirt. Fili paced carefully, watching his feet, a little way ahead. That was why he did not see the first jagged flesh of lightening. The storm was close, for the deep boom of the thunder followed a moment later. It rumbled around the mountains, like a stone in the tide. I am told the noise of a storm in the mountains is terrifying, amplified by the surrounds. Mim squealed in fright and tightened her hold on her mother.

Fili could not be blamed for what happened next. It was why he was always frightened of thunder storms, right into adulthood. He jumped, as anyone would, even more so a child. It was unfortunate that he caught his foot on the tussocky grass. He lost his balance and began to fall.

"Fili," Hala cried out, yet she was not close enough to steady the child, for she was hampered by her own daughter. She could only watch Fili fall, his brother held tight in his arms. Kili had been silent until now, and let out a loud wail, sharply cut off.

Another peal of thunder rang through the mountains as Hala darted forwards, dropping her basket. In the tall grass, Fili was nearly hidden. When Hala saw him, she clapped her hand to her racing heart. The child was splayed on his back, he brother still held safely against his chest.

"Oh Fili," Hala breathed.

"I'm sorry Hala," Fili said tearfully, "but I didn't drop him."

"No, you didn't," she said faintly.

Fili climbed carefully to his feet. He held little Kili out to Hala and bit his lip.

"No, you may carry your brother back," she said indulgently.

Kili started fussing, disliking being held away from the warmth of his brother's body. Fili automatically held him closer again, jiggling his arms to make the baby smile. Hala just watched for a moment, and put her arm around her daughter, holding her close against her side. She took back the basket Mim had picked up. At the first spit of rain, icy on her forehead, she looked up.

"Come on, dears, we must hurry," she said.

"Don't worry Kili," Fili whispered, "I promise I won't drop you."


	5. Of Remembering

**Author's note: Thanks to AprilLittle for looking over this for me. **

**Of Remembering**

Summer was in full swing in the Blue Mountains. While the upper slopes remained bare and tinged with the blue ore that gave rise to the name, elsewhere, growth was abundant.

On the lower slopes and in the lush, secluded valleys, the grass was three feet tall; a veritable jungle for dwarves. In spring, it had been a bright green to rival the emeralds dug from cold stone below the mountains, and now it was golden, standing hay. The sky above stretched unbroken and unmarred by clouds. Its color was clearer than even a polished sapphire.

The wildflowers that grew rampant in the spring: foxgloves and mountain daisies had largely disappeared. Their withered stalks were left behind and only a few scattered patches of blooms remained in secluded spots. They were made all the more beautiful because for their rarity.

These were the jewels favoured by elves for thousands of years, but not so, the dwarves. For them, beauty had to be a tangible, touchable thing that could be strung on a necklace or locked in a vault. Beauty that faded with the seasons had no appeal.

Even in the warmer months, dwarves rarely ventured from their mountain halls, unless it was to work. It is even more true now that they have grown rarer. There is a proverb I recall from when I was a child; _Elves gaze up, dwarves down and men straight ahead._

I remember a story my father told me when I was hardly older than Fili. It was about a small inn on a road and three traveling companions; a man, an elf and a dwarf. The elf and the dwarf entered the inn, soaking wet from the rain and very late. The elf explained that he had stopped to look up at the stars, and the dwarf claimed he had dallied while collecting quartz from the side of the track. The man laughed, and gestured to his bowl of hot soup and his dry cloak, and said he was on time, because he looked to the road.

I did not understand the meaning at the time, but it becomes clearer daily, as elves and dwarves retreat to their forests and their mountains, and men grow more prosperous every day.

I am told that this habit for looking down is not found in young dwarves, at least, not much. It certainly was not present in one particular dwarf lad.

Inside the mountain halls, there was no indication that outside, summer ruled. Fires burnt all year round and it was fortunate coal was found in plentifully in deep seams.

In her old rocking chair, Hala sewed peacefully. Her fingers followed a set rhythm and her unfocused gaze showed that she had used this stitch countless times before. She was making a blanket for young Kili. The only thing different about it was that she was using red fabric for the first time in many years. Red for blood, but life as well, and life hard fought for.

"Hala, can we go outside?" Fili asked, kneeling by her feet.

"Not today, Fili, your uncle Thorin is going to take you somewhere." The way in which she did not look up from her lap belayed that this was not the first time he had asked. "Why don't you play with Mim until he comes for you?"

Mim sat on her own chair, sewing a little square of fabric. It was red too. She glanced over at her mother between stitches. If Hala crossed her legs, Mim soon would too.

"Come and play orcs and warriors," Fili demanded, planting himself in front of her chair with the firmness that characterized his race.

"But I'm sewing," Mim protested.

"I'm bored," Fili replied. He crossed his arms, looking incredibly like his uncle; all he was missing was the long, plaited beard. "You have to."

"I won't!" Mim glanced quickly at her mother before sticking her tongue out.

"Mim, please play with Fili," Hala said. Let the lad have some fun now, she thought; he won't be smiling when Thorin comes for him.

"But I don't want to be an orc," Mim whined.

"Just do as I say, Mim," Hala said firmly. She fixed her daughter with a hard stare that would have made Thorin proud.

Mim grumbled and took her time packing away her sewing. She put each needle, each bobbin away slowly and carefully until Hala raised her eyebrows.

By the time the dwarf lord arrived, Fili had routed the orcs at the Dimrill Dale and put them to flight. Mim grumpily knelt down in from of him to offer her surrender. She was careful to arrange her skirts prettily.

"Hala," Thorin nodded, stepping through the door with the clink of the heavy, gold chain he wore about his neck.

"My lord," she said, bowing her head.

"Fili, you left your flank open," he said, reveealing how long he'd been in the doorway. "If the 'orcs' hadn't been so polite, it'd be you surrendering."

"Oh," Fili said breathlessly. When Thorin raised his eyebrows, Fili wrung his hands together. "Sorry…my lord."

"Well," Thorin said gruffly, hands going unconsciously to stroke the chain around his neck. "You'll come with me; there's something you need to see."

Fili trotted to keep up with Thorin's brisk stride. He glanced at his uncle often but never dared to say a word. They headed deeper into the mountain. The stone changed as they went; the common passageways gave way to newer ones where the axe marks in the floor hadn't yet been worn smooth by the passing of countless feet.

Torches lined the walls in iron brackets, but they became less frequent, and the patches of semi darkness grew deeper. Fili and Thorin's eyes gathered reflected light and appeared glassy, like a cat's. Though he walked a little closer to Thorin than needed, Fili was not scared. A human child, indeed a grown man, would have quailed. But one thing a dwarf is never afraid of is the dark; everyone knows that.

Finally Thorin took a torch from the wall and carried it with them. It cast its light on the walls, revealing fresh cuts into the stone. Occasionally there would be a crack in the stone, not made by dwarves, but part of the fabric of the mountain. Neither of them noticed the soft hiss of breath and the scrape of claws as they passed by one of these.

While outside, the afternoon sun cast warm rays on the mountain's slopes, Thorin and Fili were deep in its heart. Though there was darkness ahead, Fili could sense an open space by the draught that made Thorin's torch flicker and dance. It cast their shadows grotesquely on the wall. For a moment, Fili thought he saw a third shadow with a long, twisted neck, but he put it down to the irregular torchlight.

"Where are we going?" Fili asked timidly.

In answering, Thorin's voice was softer than usual. "We're here to see your mother, lad."

Thorin led the way into the chamber, footsteps echoing. The single torch did not cast enough light to reveal the whole space, but the tall columns standing like sentinels, gave the impression of a cathedral.

In the centre of the chamber was a tomb. Made of pale marble, it seemed to glow in the torchlight. Wordlessly, Thorin lit the torches in stands at the head and foot of the marble slab.

Fili cried out and ran forwards, stepping up onto the lower edge of the platform.

"Mother?"

It was a stone carving. A skilled hand had rendered Dis in stone, laying on the surface of her tomb as if it was a bed. The same pale marble was used, and the flickering torchlight lent the illusion of colour to her cheeks. When Fili reached out to touch the stone hands, he drew back quickly; they were icily cold.

"It's not mother," he said.

"No," Thorin agreed. "But it will help you to remember her. Here, do you want to place this?"

Thorin proffered a silver and moonstone bracelet. Fili took it and laid it across Dis' hands. Unlike men and elves, dwarves did not leave flowers at a grave.

Thorin watched the solemn little lad. He remembered Dis, and their brother Ferin at that age. Dis always loved moonstones, and coveted their mother's crown. Ferin wanted to be a warrior. Nobody hollowed out a chamber and made him a tomb when he fell at the battle of Azanulibizar, at the East-gate of Moria.

"Can we take Kili here?" Fili asked.

"A tomb is no place for a baby," Thorin said. "Come. Let us go back."

They left Dis' tomb, and her sleeping likeness. The moonstones in her hands reflected the retreating torchlight. They did not speak again until the torches grew more frequent and Thorin returned his to an empty bracket.

"But how will Kili remember mother?" Fili asked.

Thorin halted. He looked down and met his sister-son's earnest gaze. "You'll have to tell him, Fili, until he's older. Can you?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Uncle, not lord," Thorin said.

Fili's eyes widened and he dared to grin. "Yes, uncle."

"That's it, lad," Thorin put a hand on Fili's shoulder and they began walking again. "Why don't I show you how to protect your flank from the orcs next time?"


End file.
